


Emperor & Champion

by kdweaver



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8601583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kdweaver/pseuds/kdweaver
Summary: What sort of being can rule over an ever-expanding empire for over ten millenia? What powers their drive, and keeps them living?
Shiro finds himself face-to-face with Zarkon, considering these questions as he learns more about the Emperor of the Galra and his rule.





	1. Chapter 1

"At last, the Champion returns." Zarkon towered before Shiro, who was kneeling, but holding his back straight and unbent, glaring up towards Zarkon. "I've looked forward to this moment since our last engagement. Release his bonds."

The cuffs holding Shiro's wrists together behind himself clinked open. Immediately, he leapt to his feet, summoning searing purple-black energy to shroud his right hand as he charged at Zarkon.

Zarkon stood fast, the hint of a smile playing on his face as the attack closed. Just as Shiro pulled back his arm to strike, Zarkon reacted, moving with infallible precision and incredible speed. Neatly sidestepping the attack, Zarkon pulled hard on Shiro's right forearm, sending him flying forward to crash on the ground.

"Disappointing," Zarkon announced. "However, you must be tired. We will try again after you've rested."

His composure had not changed one iota. He stood tall and stoic, forever the Galra Emperor, as Shiro lay on the ground, reeling from the impact.

"Believe it or not, Champion, I brought you here to talk," Zarkon continued.

Shiro rose from the ground, his face full of anger. "What could we possibly have to talk about?" he spat.

"Many things, Champion. My empire: its past, its future, and its purpose. Altea, and Voltron. Everything you think you know, but which you only half-know. Now, go rest."

Zarkon began to walk out of the docking bay, his soldiers standing rapt at attention. Before the exit, he turned to make a final comment.

"It was very noble of you, to sacrifice yourself for your friends." He paused. "That was what I depended upon."

Zarkon turned again, and left the room. Shiro's hands were bound again, and he was led away - through purple-lit corridors painted with stylized Galra symbols, until they reached a cell. It was both larger and better-appointed than experience had led Shiro to expect. Not seeing any reasonable alternative, he laid down on the bed, tired and hurting from his fall. He hadn't tumbled well when he hit the ground; Zarkon wasn't the only one disappointed in how his attack had gone. Waves of fatigue swept over Shiro. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd last slept - had it been before the distress call, the trap? It must have been; at least over a day awake, then. Quickly, his thoughts began to fade, and soon, he fell asleep.

 

Shiro had woken up, and was stretching. He'd gone to the bathroom, and washed his face in the Galra sink. Shiro had worried about his teeth; nobody in space seemed to have toothpaste. He could floss easily enough, and wash out his mouth with synthesized ethanol, but he no clue what was in toothpaste.

He had worried about the other Paladins, his team. Did they think he was dead? He doubted it. They would be thinking of a plan to get him back, just like they'd done for the Princess. That also worried him. Pidge, Hunk, Lance, and Keith all had their hearts in the right place, but they were still so young. Allura and Corran would guide them as best they could, but there was so much they didn't know about humans - human teens in particular. All littler worries, to distract him from the big one: what was going to happen to him?

Shiro tried not to worry while he stretched, but it was proving impossible. As he did a handstand, he reflected on his arms. His left arm was strong, by any human standard. But his right arm, the false arm - it was beyond strong. He could move, or hold, the entire weight of his body on his right arm alone, with surprising ease. If he concentrated, he could feel air currents on its surface, feel individual motes of dust hitting it. And, at its center, was this reservoir of energy: it felt like a burning sun, bright and eternal, sitting in his palm. That was what he pulled on, to summon the energy shroud. It felt the same way, shimmering around his hand: keen and strong, powerful and eager.

And yet, the right arm wasn't his. Shiro hadn't asked for it, but had gotten it anyway. He still couldn't remember how it had happened; all he could recall were flashes of crimson, black spots of pain, and then his old arm, missing, and the new one in its place.

What shamed him was that if someone were to ask him if he wanted his old arm back - he didn't think he would say yes. He'd needed his new arm's power too many times to ignore. It had saved him, and saved the other Paladins, even the Castle. Sendak had known Shiro couldn't ignore his new arm's power, and played him with that. Sendak had understood, fully - he'd switched out his arm too, perhaps even voluntarily.

The door to his cell pinged, and opened, admitting a soldier. Shiro flipped down, out of his handstand, and stood up.

"The Emperor summons you," the soldier announced.

Not seeing any choice in the matter, Shiro went along.

 

They brought him to a circular chamber, the size of a practice arena. To his relief, he saw that the room was bathed in white light, instead of the usual Galra purple.

His relief ended with the sight of who was standing in the middle of the room. It was Zarkon, impassive and stony as ever. He regarded Shiro with a cool gaze, ten thousand years of experience staring out of violet eyes.

Anger welled in Shiro's chest at the sight of him. Here was the being who was responsible for everything, who stood at the center of it all - if Shiro could just reach out at the right moment, and strike him down, it would all fall apart: the entire cruel empire held together by its vicious master. How could he not try, in every moment he had near Zarkon?

And yet, he knew how pointless it would be. He must look like a naked, burning flame in the eyes of the Emperor - Shiro's hatred and anger would be laid out plain in his hard-set mouth, his tense muscles, the movement of his fingers. The Emperor had been reading the body language of Galra and countless other species, for over hundreds of human lifetimes.

"Champion, the lighting in this room was adjusted to be more suited to your eyes. I understand that you see quite differently than Galra," Zarkon stated.

"It's an improvement over purple, yes," Shiro replied guardedly, standing just inside the doorway.

"Excellent. Your quarters will also be adjusted." Zarkon unfastened his cape, and threw it to a side of the room. "You have rested, and we have improved the lighting. Now, attack me again."

Shiro stood still, his brows knitted, his hands still at his sides, while he tried to figure out what the Emperor was up to.

"Attack me, or I will attack you, Champion. Do not try my patience."

Acceding, Shiro summoned his weapon. It was what he wanted to do, and they'd both known it.

He didn't charge at Zarkon, as he had the day before. Shiro closed the distance between them carefully, his eyes always on Zarkon's body, watching his limbs for signs of movement. There were none. Shiro began to circle the Emperor, his right arm raised and on guard. The Emperor did not move to follow his rotation, surprising Shiro. _Surely_ , he thought, _everyone needed to be able to watch their enemies, no matter their experience - right?_

With silent footsteps, Shiro approached Zarkon from behind. He reached back to begin a strike on Zarkon's back, and - the Emperor turned, pushing away Shiro's attack, and countering with a kick. Just in time, Shiro ducked, and the kick went over his head. Shiro rolled and disengaged, backing away and putting his guard back up. The Emperor stood still, in the center of the room, his gaze on Shiro once again.

Shiro tried everything he knew: feints, counters, tricks, and rolls, but none of it added up to anything. Zarkon batted every attack aside, and stood standing in the center of the room, watching for Shiro's next move.

After ten or more failed attacks from Shiro, Zarkon reached out and grabbed his arm, not simply deflecting his blows as he'd done thus far. He pulled on it, and threw Shiro across the room as he'd done the day before. Not making the same mistake as yesterday, Shiro reacted well when he hit the ground, tumbling safely and climbing back to his feet.

"Enough," Zarkon announced. He crossed the room to retrieve his cloak, where he'd left it on the ground. "You are much better than yesterday, but that is not nearly enough."

"What's the point of this?" Shiro yelled at Zarkon, his frustration leaking into his voice.

Zarkon continued on, as though he had not heard. "You use the quintessence as a weapon, but fail to see what more it can do. Close your eyes, and concentrate on its power." He finished reattaching his cloak to his shoulders. "We will talk later."

Zarkon left the room, and for a moment, Shiro was alone - catching his breath in the white, empty arena.

 

Eyes closed, sitting cross-legged on his cell's floor, Shiro concentrated on his right arm. He felt the motes of dust hitting its smooth, cool surface. The sun in its palm was bright and concentrated as ever. Shiro was suspicious of Zarkon's words, but he couldn't just ignore them, if they could bring him a clue to power, or his purpose there. Shiro held himself calmly, upright and relaxed, bringing that sun to the center of his mind. He imagined it sitting alone in an empty space, burning white, with a purple corona, perfectly circular, like the sun seen from outer space.

As he sat there, he saw - or maybe felt - a flash of something. A living being, seated. Surrounded by a shell of something non-living, reaching far into the distance. Other people, also living, within the shell. And far off, an old, dark power - shimmering, watching, connected to thousands of tendrils which shimmered and pulsed. It swiveled its gaze, just one of many, towards him, and felt it see him, see through him.

Shiro gasped, and his opened his eyes, filling them with the white light of his newly-adjusted room. He was sure he'd seen the cell, just before, in the light of the star in his hand. He began to sweat, nervous. He had also seen the Emperor - that dark power - and he knew the Emperor had recognized him, as well.

 


	2. Visions of a Future

Soon, the guards returned, and Shiro was brought to the druids' section of the station. The masked figures stared at him as he passed, and Shiro could feel his guards' nervousness. The druids were feared and respected by all within the Galra, below only Emperor Zarkon himself.

They began descending a long ramp into the heart of the station. Slowly, they approached a tall, golden door, with a hunched figure standing in front of it. Shiro's anger began to rise in his chest again; it could only be Haggar standing at the end of the ramp.

It was indeed her, standing at the tall door, sharp and crooked under her druid's robes. The one who had experimented on him, and given him his Galra arm.

"Greetings, Champion," she croaked. "We saw you open your eyes today. Most unexpected. The Emperor waits for you, within."  
"Now leave us, guards," she commanded, waving them off. They were happy to oblige, and she turned back towards Shiro.  
"The Emperor has spent a great deal of time on you. I hope you do not disappoint him," she warned.

Shiro scowled. He had nothing to say to her.

Haggar put her hands to the towering door, and pulses of energy sparked from her hands. The door clicked, and began to swing open. Beyond it was a dark, cavernous room, with rough walls hewn from bare rock. Small alcoves in the walls held blue orbs, each which produced a dim blue light that lit the chamber, casting a hundred flickering shadows.

Zarkon was seated on a bench in front of a pedestal near the room's back. On the pedestal, one of the orbs sat, with secrets and whispers swirling under its surface. Its pale light was mirrored by Zarkon's glowing eyes as he stared into it, resting his chin on his hands.

"The Champion is here," Haggar announced.

Zarkon broke his gaze away from the orb, and looked to Haggar. "You may leave us now," he announced, dismissing her. She bowed and left the room, closing the doors behind her. They thumped closed and clicked, sealing the room.

"Champion, be seated," Zarkon commanded.

Shiro shook his head.

"What am I here for, Zarkon? Am I here to entertain you, for you to toy with? I'll fight you, but I won't sit down across from you like we're anything other than enemies," Shiro shot back, defiantly.

"Stand, or sit. It makes no difference, other than your comfort," Zarkon responded. "I may think many things of you, Champion, but I do not think you a fool. The Black Lion does not suffer fools."

Shiro snorted.

"If you really thought that, you wouldn't be talking to me. Having seen what I've seen - having lived through what was done to me - there's nothing you can say to me that will convince me you're anything else than a malicious, evil overlord."

Zarkon said nothing for a moment, and simply regarded Shiro coolly.

"What have you seen? A handful of years, a few planets - whatever the last, bitter Alteans desired to show you. My methods can be brutal, I admit. If you think me evil, so be it. There is good, and there is evil, and then there is purpose. If you could understand my purpose, that would suffice."

Reaching out, Zarkon, plucked the orb off of the pedestal in front of him.

"The druids are older than you, and older than me. They are older than even the written history of the Galra. Many have valued and feared them for their insight and power."

He held up the orb in front of himself, turning it from side to side.

"Every few centuries, they gather to create one of these. A culmination of all that they've seen and heard, all that they've thought and feared, poured into a single crucible and given form. In these orbs, they watch reflections develop. Hints of things to come, of plots and tragedies. Without their scrying, they would not have survived to this day."

Zarkon stood up, and approached Shiro, orb in hand.

"You gained the sight today, as I hoped you would, and as so many others have failed to do. Use it, Champion, and look into this orb. That is all."

He held up the orb, in an outstretched arm. Indescribable shapes moved under the orb's crystal surface. Staring into it, Shiro felt afraid; more afraid than he had been, even while fighting as a gladiator, or during his escape. Something in that orb was watching, and it could burn the unwary.

Zarkon's arm was rock-steady as he held the orb out. Shiro had no doubt that the orb was important to what Zarkon had become. Something had to have changed the former Black Paladin, and Shiro wasn't sure if he'd want to see what it was.

"Courage, Champion," Zarkon said, quietly. "You have strength."

Shiro evened his stance, and set his hands at his sides. Closing his eyes, he pictured the eternal sun in his palm, and waited for the flash.

It came quicker, and more smoothly, than it had the first time - Shiro felt as though his mind, and body, were learning new pathways, rearranging itself to adapt to using the quintessence. Shiro focused his new sight onto the orb the dark, towering figure in front of him held.

The orb didn't just hold mist and light, Shiro realized, it held entire galaxies - spiral, lenticular, elliptical - spinning and living and dying within its depths. Shiro felt the life moving between the stars, jumping between the galaxies and all the dark spaces. Vibrant life, independant, free, flourishing and spreading. No one force held dominion over another, and a manner of loose federation emerged to preserve this state of existence.

Life continued to spread and emerge, poking out of the strangest places, in the most unexpected forms. Some had advantages, and some had disadvantages, but all was kept equal by the federation. But the numbers kept growing. Species kept trying to stack the odds. Wars broke out, searing unimaginable volumes of space with incredible energies, produced by strange and byzantine methods.

The fighting grew, and the federation disintegrated into chaos and factionalism. Huge fleets were built, and moved across the galaxies - burning planets, firing on one another in battles which could outshine stars. Weapons were built - extraordinary weapons, which existed half-in, half-out of the Universe, burrowing into powers beyond comprehension, powers beyond total control. The weapons fired, sending destruction arcing under and through space, annihilating entire star systems, catching unaware planets and moons in the crossfire.

The weapons propagated and multiplied, as the powers which still existed fought with all their might to finally end the conflict, to achieve any victory through the narrowest of margins. More was lost then than could ever be counted, or understood. Then, one day, through coincidence more than anything else, two of the weapons fired on one another.

Something between them intersected. Some force, or power, underlying everything, was caught or snagged in the turbulent coils of the boiling, incandescent energy fields, and it broke. Between the two weapons, the fabric of the reality began to tear apart. Things did not blow up or disintegrate, they simply ceased - the physics of reality which had kept them together was no more.

The tear continued, and spread, splitting into more tears and folds. The war fleets became refugee fleets, fleeing the inevitable disincorporation which was spreading across the Universe. Reality shrank. Clouds of galaxies were wiped away, as their existence was no more. There was no blackness left behind; there was simply an absence, less than nothing. A place without even the concept of nothing.

The last stars went into the absence, and the last life - an aquatic species which had never known of space.

Shiro's mind wanted to see darkness, expected to see darkness, but saw less than that in the aftermath. He was blind. He panicked, searching sideways, up, and down, and fell -

Back into some sort of light. The same galaxies, but slightly different. Shiro saw it all begin again. _No,_ he thought. He pushed against the vision with all his might, he pushed and wrenched, until his vision finally tore away from the spinning galaxies, and saw only an orb, and a towering, dark figure.

Opening his eyes, Shiro saw the Galra Emperor before him, standing tall in his armor, the orb in his hand. The Emperor lowered the orb back to his side, and Shiro shakily wiped drops of sweat off of his brow.

"What was that?" Shiro asked Zarkon, in a hoarse voice.

"You know what that was."

"It was a future," Shiro replied quietly. "Not ours, but somebody's."

"Precisely," Zarkon answered, setting the orb back on an alcove in the rock walls. "A situation similar in many respects to our own, approximately ten thousand years ago. The druids were quite concerned."

"That orb - was that vision the start of your campaign to subjugate the galaxy?"

"No one factor decides anything, Champion. Go rest. You will be tired, soon."

The towering doors at the end of the chamber re-opened, and Shiro was led back to his room.


	3. A Proposition

Zarkon was right. Shiro was tired, but he didn't want to sleep. Every time he began to drift off, a jolt of fear spread through his body, as he thought of that nothingness, the same nonexistence which was there at the end of the universe, or before its beginning. Something like the absence of consciousness which preceded birth, and perhaps succeeded death. The nothingness which came every night, in deep sleep.

He didn't want that absence. He wanted life, he wanted color and sound. And, most of all, he wanted his friends.

Shiro needed their input, their knowledge, their company. Surely, Allura or Corran would know something about the scrying orbs, he thought. They could explain what it was that he saw, or how Zarkon had twisted the truth to suit his own purposes. He needed to hear Keith and Lance, as they argued yet grew closer, he needed to hear Hunk and Pidge taking some piece of tech apart. He needed them. He needed anybody, other than Galra soldiers, druids, and Zarkon.

He needed to get out. He'd wasted enough time, waiting to see what would happen, letting himself stay imprisoned. He still had his arm, he still had strength, and he still had courage.

Concentrating, Shiro reached out with the sense he'd discovered, connected to the energy in his right arm - it was getting easier for him to access it. As usual, he saw himself first, and then reached out, but slowly, and with subtlety. His room was surrounded by others, with a single corridor running outside. A guard stood at their post outside his door.

Shiro pulled back, opening his eyes. He didn't want to alert a druid that he was looking around, giving away that he might be attempting an escape.

Pushing all of his arm's energy into the tip of his index finger, Shiro began to cut away a section of the wall adjacent to the door. Normally, it's where the control panel would have been. Whatever his chamber's walls were made of, they were extremely resistant to being cut by the energy Shiro summoned from his arm; it took 5 minutes to cut out a stamp-sized piece of material, and in the meantime, the cutting made wisps of smoke. Shiro worried it could set off an alarm, and send all the guards running to him.

Thankfully, no alarms went off, and Shiro poked the cut-out piece of metal inside the wall. The small hole Shiro had cut was almost perfectly positioned; it provided a window onto the control circuit for the door.

Galra tech was incredibly different from humanity's; their circuits didn't seem to use electricity, but mainly used light, and other strange forces yet unharnessed on Earth. Whatever that force was, Shiro could pluck at it, and sense its flow, running under the tip of his right fingers. His Galra hand, again, chiding him, proving its superiority.

Shiro found the pathway he needed to pluck. He took a breath, and sent a pulse down the circuit. The door to his room swept open, and Shiro jumped out, taking the guard by surprise. A solid kick and punch was all it took to knock the unsuspecting soldier out. Shiro took their rifle, and began to run down the corridor.

He didn't need to think about which way to run. He'd felt the call as soon as he'd stepped outside of his room: it was the Black Lion, summoning him.

 

The station had gone on lockdown soon after his escape. But Shiro had reached out, felt the connection to his lion, felt the station around him. He'd evaded the patrols, found alternate routes, hidden, and run when the times had been right. Now, the hangar holding his lion was straight ahead.

Shiro slashed through the simple door which was blocking his way, and stepped onto the hangar floor. Relief washed over him as he walked towards his ship, part of the legendary Defender of the Universe, Voltron. It had raised its spherical shield to protect itself. Shiro raised his hand, put it against the shield to lower it, and...

Nothing happened. The shield stayed up. The Black Lion remained still and silent beyond the barrier.

"Haggar believed you would run for the escape pods. But I knew any pilot of the Black Lion would come here."

Shiro spun around, and began firing towards the source of the voice.

Zarkon already had his own shield in place, and the bolts of energy reflected off it harmlessly.

"A cheap weapon, for simple tasks. I enjoyed our hand-to-hand more," Zarkon commented casually as he let his shield reform into the bayard.

Shiro lowered the rifle. He was at a loss.

"You did well to come this far. It would be remiss of me to deny you your prize now," Zarkon announced, patronizingly.

The black lion's shield dropped, and it lowered itself to the ground, opening its jaw. Shiro did not move from where he stood.

"Come, now. Don't turn away, when you are so very close."

The black lion called to Shiro. It called, and called, and Shiro could not ignore it.

He found himself in the pilot's seat. Zarkon was standing behind him, he knew, and purple light filled the cockpit as the lion woke, responding to its true master.

"For a century, the Black Lion was mine. The blink of an eye to me now, but it made me who I am."

Zarkon was speaking behind Shiro, his deep voice resounding throughout the cockpit. The lion leaped out of the Galra Central Command, and into the void of space. Multitudes of stars, ships, and fighters glowed brightly against the dark background.

"In that time, I saw over a thousand worlds. A thousand species, each fighting, plotting, vying to climb to the top, over smoke and debris, by any cost. I saw countless lives and incredible resources squandered, lost to senseless battles and pointless arguments."

A swirling portal opened before the Black Lion, and it flew through into hyperspace, the vast dimension beyond and inside the normal fabric of reality.

"Voltron is capable of more than you realize, Champion. It has capabilities which even I have not discovered."

The lion snapped back into real space, materializing through another portal into a dark debris field, orbiting a small, dim star.

"This, Champion, is the site of Voltron's last true battle, before the lions were scattered."

Fragments the size of battlecruisers tumbled and collided, lit weakly in the scarce light.

"A war fleet had gathered at the third planet from this sun; one of a size and power which had never before been seen in our time."

Shiro saw it then, on the screen. A world, dark and dead, scorched, burned into ash, sundered and split in two.

"I had grown tired of warnings. Tired of diplomacy, negotiations, broken treaties and broken promises. Finally, I unleashed Voltron, and demonstrated my displeasure."

"The fleet was destroyed, along with its home planet. There was no war."

The dead rocks tumbled endlessly on, around their dying sun.

"Once it had been done, one of the Paladins grew afraid. Weak as he was, he could not shoulder the true extent of our responsibilities, or bear his part in our actions. He broke Voltron apart, and fled back to his homeworld. You know him as King Alfor."

The manner in which Zarkon stressed the word _king_ gave his complete opinion on the ruler of Altea; the word dripped with derision.

"Soon, we were invited to his world; it was to be a reconciliation, a reformation of Voltron. But Alfor betrayed us. Outside of our lions, he had us arrested and deported like common criminals. Not once did any of us even see his cowardly face."

"'You cannot be trusted with the power you were given, Zarkon. I have destroyed the lions; Voltron is gone, forever.' That was his only message to me," Zarkon recalled bitterly.

Shiro felt Zarkon's anger at the memory, millenia old, live again as he recalled the moment. It was not the tone of Zarkon's voice as he spoke, but the pauses, and the electricity in the air, which gave it away.

"I returned to the Galra, Champion. I gathered my own fleet; my species has long been a power, and the other Paladins joined with me. We did not believe that Alfor had the power to destroy Voltron."

Another portal opened in front of the Black Lion, and it made a brief journey, jumping to another side of the galaxy.

They emerged into orbit around a yellow-blue planet, illuminated by a red giant. The planet's moons glowed with activity, shining in the planet's shadow. Ships and tugs flew to and from them, ferrying workers, materials, food, and equipment.

"In construction alone, a battlecruiser requires forty million work-hours. On this world, twenty battleships are made every quarter. Twenty old battlecruisers are decommissioned and recycled. It has been thus for three thousand years, and this world is one of a hundred like it. Its natural coloration is unique, however."

"Economies, materials, and logistics have always had a place in my mind; I was raised to be a ruler, long before I was even Paladin. And once I had raised my fleet, I crushed Altea's defenses as though they were made of paper. The capital burned as I descended towards the King's palace, and as my troops and I cut through Alfor's guards."

A Galra battleship passed near the Black Lion, on patrol. It either was unaware of the Lion's presence, or had been alerted that the Lion was back under Zarkon's control, and displayed no reaction.

"He could have saved his world, Champion. If he had simply told me where the lions were, Altea would still exist. But Alfor only spoke one phrase: 'Voltron cannot be yours.' It was the first thing he said to me when he saw me. It was the last thing he said before I crushed his head between my hands. I ejected his body from my ship, to burn with the rest of his world of liars, spies, and traitors."

Zarkon’s words as he described killing a King and annihilating a planet were terse and calm. On one of the nearby shipyard moons, a battlecruiser's engines fired up for the first time, forming a new, purple star in the night.

"And now, Voltron returns. Alfor could not destroy it, and he could not hide it forever - his failure is now complete. In the ten-thousand years since his demise, I have forged an empire. I have surmounted endless obstacles, destroyed and defeated many who would stand against universal order. Finally, there is peace in our time - there is peace, and there is stability, or there will be nothing."

Shiro felt Zarkon's gaze on the back of his head, as he refocused on the present.

"We have met in battle once, Champion. The first time was entertaining. The next time, I will not hold back. You may give up Voltron now, or have it taken from you then, and lose everything with it. Voltron is the only missing part of my plan; I will not be denied it again."

Zarkon spoke no more, and was silent as Shiro sat in the lion's pilot chair. The controls were unresponsive; Shiro could feel that all authority over the lion stemmed from Zarkon's presence in the cockpit.

Another battlecruiser passed by the lion, a little closer than the other had. Shiro was sure they knew that the Lion was no threat to them any longer.

He broke the silence.

"I don't care for your show of power, Zarkon. I won't help you take the other lions - not now, not ever."

"A hasty decision, Champion. For I have an offer: return the lions to me, and their pilots would be allowed to go home."

"And how long would it be before you conquer Earth?"

"Your planet would be left untouched, unless it made a nuisance of itself."

Shiro clenched his jaw, thinking on the offer. To trade Voltron, to end a nearly hopeless fight, to send everyone back to a protected Earth - most of them wanted to return, anyway. Except for Pidge; her family was still out there.

"The pilot of the Green Lion is looking for her family, they're Galra captives."

"They would be returned," Zarkon replied without hesitation.

They could just wrap everything up with a deal, Shiro realized. End a perilous journey which had started by chance, and led into uncertain alliances - made in the heat of the moment, with one-sided information. Shiro had heard the stories from both sides, been caught up their fights, but no one had yet to listen to him, he thought angrily. Standing up out of the pilot's chair, Shiro turned towards Zarkon.

"...If what you've said and shown me is true, Zarkon, then - as much as I hate it - I owe you a chance, a chance to try to understand your Empire. That is why you brought me here, isn't it?"

Zarkon inclined his head, in a tiny nod.

"Indeed, it was."

"Well, you owe me the same chance, Zarkon. A chance to hear my side of the story: why I hate you, and why I find your Empire so despicable."

Zarkon scowled.

"I owe you nothing. But, it may be in my interest to indulge my curiosity. I will hear your story, Champion."

Shiro shook his head.

"I'm not your Champion, Zarkon. I'm a soldier of the Galaxy Garrison. My name is Takashi Shirogane."

"Takashi, then. Let us return to my station."

A portal formed before the Black Lion, and it slipped away, back to Galra Central Command.


	4. An Emperor's Mind

Zarkon's audience chamber was near his throne room. The chamber was a space with multiple axes of symmetry, from the tables to the patterns on the walls. The symmetry was broken by a singular point, an outlier: a relatively modest throne on a raised dais, backed by a projection of the Galra Empire in green light. As he watched it, Shiro swore that he saw a tiny light emerge into the swirl of green.

A door opened, and Zarkon strode into the room, assuming his throne.

"Commanders who listen are as rare as peaceful planets, Takashi. You may begin your story, and I will attempt to be a listener of singular rarity."

Shiro furrowed his brow. Had the Emperor just attempted something nearing word-play? He was in an indulgent mood, to be sure. It must have been a good day for him. No doubt Zarkon was convinced he'd soon have Voltron, and it appeared that he'd also captured another planet.

Evening out his stance, Shiro set his hands behind his back and began to think on his past, on all the events and traumas which had led him to that point. Some were still unclear, and foggy in his mind, but all burned with pain, and hatred for those who caused it: the Galra, the Emperor.

"Do you know where I come from? I was on a mission to a remote planet in my home system. It was exploratory; taking ice samples, mapping the terrain, that sort of thing. Then, one of your ships appeared. It took us. No greeting, no explanation, nothing. It - it was unbelievable. I'd never believed those sorts of stories, the ones where aliens did that sort of thing. I believed that they'd be wiser, smarter than us. Turns out, you were just more powerful."

Shiro went on, and retold all the events he could remember. The callous indifference and wanton cruelty he'd seen in captivity, the fear when they'd been told that they were going to fight in an arena. And then, he described the blurry parts afterwards. Blood and steel, sore limbs, hunger. A missing limb, and a new one. Changes so severe that he lost himself, and only found himself again after escaping.

"Do you see? Your Empire was no peacemaker for me. Without a word, it took me, it took everything I had and wanted, and threw it away, to turn me into - what - a gladiator? To fight for others' idle entertainment? What sort of government does that? A powerful one, which values nothing except itself, not its citizens, not its resources, not anything which doesn't directly serve it."

Shiro took a breath, and looked up at the map behind Zarkon. He raised his right hand, and pointed at it.

"You created and control a virus, a monster: unified in peace, and unified in misery."

Finally, Shiro fell silent, and spoke no more. After a few breaths, Zarkon's hard-set mouth made a small, dry smile.

"Very eloquent, Takashi. Your Altean friends would be proud, I have no doubt."

Zarkon stood, and descended from the dais to stand next to Shiro.

"Do you know why we give the title 'Champion?'" he asked.

"To reward those who spill the most blood, who can pacify the most aliens?"

"It is given to those who are the best of the Galra; those who can walk through fire unscathed, those who will never shirk their duty, those who can face fate unflinchingly. I was a champion - earning that title was a true moment of pride."

"So, after all this, you're telling me to be grateful? That I should be honored for having had the chance to earn such an important Galra title?"

Shiro had been gradually raising his voice, and was clenching his fists at his sides. After everything he'd said, that Zarkon could miss the point so utterly just confirmed everything which Shiro had thought of him.

"You should be proud, Takashi. You rose above unfair obstacles and defeated your foes. Such a feat marks you as worthy, worthy to protect peace among the ranks of the Galra-"

Zarkon's words were coming more quickly and tersely than his usual measured pace. _Good_ , Shiro thought, _maybe I'm actually getting through to him_.

"Oh, oh, so that's it?" Shiro laughed in disbelief. "This is - what - some sort of sick recruitment drive? Abduct aliens, make them fight, then pick the top one to assimilate and convert, or destroy? How ineffectual, how cruel, how utterly lazy-"

Shiro was flying across the room, only feeling the punch in his chest once he was already in the air. He slammed into one of the symmetric walls, and felt the air get knocked out of his chest, as something cracked against the wall. Bouncing off, he fell onto the ground and lay there, his chest painfully heaving as his body tried to draw breath while something near his lungs felt distinctly and agonizingly out of place.

"Lazy?!" Zarkon yelled as he approached Shiro. It was, Shiro realized, the first time he had ever heard Zarkon raise his voice. Shiro tried to move away, his body screaming at him, but Zarkon pinned Shiro down, his massive knees pinning Shiro's arms down, and the rest of his body holding down Shiro's torso with its sheer mass. It was, Shiro thought, like having a truck sit on top of him.

"Let me show you, Champion," Zarkon hissed, raising his right arm, "let me show you what it feels like to rule."

Zarkon had energy shrouding two of his pointed fingers. Shiro looked straight ahead as they swung down towards him, and screamed as they pierced into his eyes.

 

_a thousand tendrils connected - pulsing and flowing with information - fleet's western flank in danger in current orbit, please advise - secret armament deals spreading in the Alris system - quintessence production schedules - quintessence production simulations - victorious fleet mopping up stragglers, damaged ships under repair - defect in sentries under exploitation by rebels -_

it was all coming in too fast, there was too much of it and not enough time

_food shortages in the mantis system - sleeper agents' reports from the Targenys deep cell - reports of Altean castle sighting - outpost damaged by saboteurs -_

Shiro felt himself beginning to take a breath

**there are too many decisions to be made - even at the highest level - to keep everything from falling apart - one destined vision has to lead - only one vision can be unified and reliable - it is a duty to the Universe - it is a duty which must never cease - lest all be lost**

Shiro felt agony in his eyes, something was arcing through them

**realign fleet to polar orbit - watch weapon shipping lines, destroy supply lines and ringleaders - no change to quintessence production needed - damaged ships create perimeter to prevent escapes - investigate exploit and create patch**

Shiro was sitting on the human soldier, he needed to show them precisely what it meant to rule as he did, what sacrifices it meant, how there was simultaneously far too little and far too much time, living inside the whirlwind of thoughts, actions, and desires at the center of an empire

**ship extra rations to mantis - activate sleeper agents for strike - investigate sighting reliability - look for traces of Altean explosives**

A ten-thousand year old body feeling like a coiled bolt of lightning, concentrated, trained, distilled, but fractured, tangled, lost and bridged, fading and growing, arguing with itself in vortices of thought, which expanded and caught on

**which part of us are you, an old part, a new part? - we can't tell - this part is alike in many ways - it's dangerous - it's righteous - it's charismatic - it also wants an ending. But, oh, it grew up far from the Palace, it exists separately and -**

A small dimension was expanded and the vortices spun out through it, draining down the complex gradient into the new valley, and the old flow smoothed and shifted and flowed differently after their absence, disconnecting, snapping back, reforming.

 

Shiro gasped as Zarkon leapt off him, and backed away, looking stunned, off-balance, for the first time. Every detail of him was clear to Shiro; suddenly, he looked imperfect and vulnerable, tired and old.

Gathering his strength, Shiro stood up. Funnily enough, it didn't hurt at all - whatever had felt wrong in his chest must have snapped back into place. Taking one last look at Zarkon, Shiro backed out of the audience chamber, and then ran down the halls, sprinting to the Black Lion. He felt blood running down his face, but his vision was perfectly clear - Zarkon must have scratched his face, he deduced.

When Shiro got to the hangar, the Black Lion's shield was down, and its mouth was already open. _Good to have you back, old friend_ , Shiro thought. Boarding the lion, he then used it to slash his way out of the hangar. They flew out of the horrible, imprisoning corridors and rooms of the Galra Central Command, and into open space. Shiro willed the lion to open a wormhole, and flew into it. Finally, he took a long, deep breath, and looked behind himself. Zarkon definitely wasn't there.


	5. Chapter 5

Shiro had done a few random jumps afterward, to shake off the feeling that he was being followed. Afterward, it had taken a while to find the right direction to go in - but Shiro had followed the Lion's attraction to the other pieces of Voltron, and eventually, he'd found them.

Popping into realspace, he saw the Castle. It glowed with light, and already stood as a symbol of hope for better things. With a lightening heart, Shiro opened a channel.

"Hello? Anybody home? I could use some food, and company."

There was a brief pause, as Shiro waited to see if somebody would answer.

"Shiro? Is that really you?"

It was Allura who was first to answer a call. Of course, Shiro thought, smiling.

"It's me. Glad to be home."

"Oh, my goodness. Shiro, we're so - so very glad to hear from you. Hold on, I need to get everyone."

Shiro flew into the Castle's hangar, and made his way back to the bridge, feeling his tension evaporate with each step. _He was back_. Rounding a corner, he heard voices, and - there they were. Allura and Corran standing off to one side, looking anxious and yet relieved. Then, there was Hunk, fidgeting nervously and looking... taller, perhaps? Lance stood next to him, pretending to be relaxed and collected while being neither. Pidge stood next to Keith, wiping her eyes with a dirty tissue. Keith's eyes looked dark and tired, but he stood calmly, pulling a new tissue for Pidge out of his jacket as Shiro walked in.

"Shiro!!" Pidge yelled. "You're really back, you made it out again, you..."

Pidge trailed off, as she looked up at him.

"Shiro," she asked quietly, "what happened to you?"

Shiro noticed that Allura had put one hand up to cover her mouth, and both she and Coran had moved into stiff, rigid postures. Lance's mouth was hanging open.

"I got scratched. Another scar for the collection, right?" he joked.

"Shiro," Keith said, standing up and walking over. Keith put his hand on Shiro's shoulder. "It's your eyes, they look..." He trailed off, biting his lip.

"They look just like Zarkon's eyes," Pidge finished.

Shiro stood there for a moment, his mouth slightly ajar.

"Wh-what?" he asked, a slight laugh in his question. "What do you mean? My eyes feel fine."

"Dude, your eyes are glowing. And, all purple-ish. Aaand... there's a lot of blood on your face," Lance replied.

Pidge was holding up her screen, and took a picture, then turned it towards Shiro. It was an image of his face, smeared with drying blood, running from where his eyes had been replaced with glowing purple energy. Pidge was right, he realized; his eyes looked just like Zarkon's.

"Shiro, I think you need to tell us what happened to you," Allura said in a serious tone, walking towards him with a stride that suddenly did not seem at all friendly.

Shiro began to back away, from the picture of himself, from Allura, from everyone staring at him. Then, he turned, and ran, back down the corridor he had entered from.

"Princess, wait!" Coran shouted, jumping forward to put a hand on Allura's shoulder, before she could chase after Shiro. His footsteps quickly grew distant.

"Coran, let go!" Allura commanded, turning to break his grip on her. "That isn't the Shiro we know - Zarkon could be looking through those eyes right now!"

"He's in shock, Princess! He just found out he lost a part of himself! And in a pretty callous manner, too, I might add," Coran noted, sending significant looks towards Lance and Pidge. For their part, at least, they looked shocked.

Keith stood up.

"I'll go after him. I've known him the longest," he announced.

"I think that's a good idea, Keith," Coran nodded. "The rest of us should get some - what was it you Paladins called it? Space juice? We should all get some space juice, and calm down for a tick. We can figure everything once Shiro is back and we've had some rest."

"That's the first good plan I've heard today," Hunk agreed, as he began to lose his frozen look.

"I don't like this, but it seems we haven't much of a choice. Please, Keith, find him quickly," Allura consented. 

Everyone else moved off towards the dining room, and Keith began to walk down the corridor Shiro had run down. After a hundred feet or so, Keith began to speak.

"Hey, Shiro, can you hear me?"

He listened to his words and footsteps echo off the smooth corridor walls.

"I kinda feel awkward talking like this, but, I guess if you can hear this, you'll know it's just me. So, uh, I'm gonna keep it up. Until you say something. Or my throat gets really scratchy."

Keith kept walking, and talking, following the corridors he had a hunch that Shiro would take. He went down, deep into the castle, further than he'd gone before, into smaller and darker corridors.

"...I've never seen this part of the castle before. Do you think this thing really needs to be this big? It seems like it only makes it a larger target. Did compensation exist in Altean society? Like, was Coran's Grandad compensating for something when he built this place so huge? I-"

"Keith-"

Keith stopped, and looked towards the source of the voice. He was walking down a narrow corridor, running a hand along pipes which seemed to carry some sort of energy to another wing of the castle.

"Shiro?" he asked, hesitantly.

"Keith, that's definitely not something I want to think about."

It was unmistakably Shiro's voice, though raw and tired, coming from an alcove Keith had missed, behind one of the pipes. Seeing a person-sized gap between in the ducts, Keith stuck his head through. Shiro was sitting on the other side, his arms around his knees.

"I've never heard you talk so much at once before," he told Keith, looking at him with his inhuman eyes.

"Well, I had to find you again, didn't I?"

"No, you didn't. Allura is right, I can't be trusted. I don't know what else Zarkon did to me, what he could make me do, or-"

"Hey," Keith interrupted. "Don't think like that. I trust you, everyone else trusts you, and we have good reason to."

Keith started climbing in, through the opening in the pipes, and sat down across from Shiro.

"I never know if I'm making the right choices, Keith. We could all get hurt, or killed, and we're so far in to something we barely understand. Zarkon, he wanted to make a deal. You could have all gone home - you, Hunk, Lance, even Pidge’s family, but I just - couldn't let go, I couldn't let go and I made Zarkon angry. Now that chance is gone, and he took my eyes, and I'm scared of what he'll take next, of when I stop being myself and start being... something Zarkon made."

"Shiro, you need to listen."

"What?"

"You'll never be something Zarkon made, because you're - good. You’ve always been good. Not just to me, but to everyone you meet."

Shiro hid his face down in his arms, and began to shake like he was crying.

Keith leaned forward, and put his hand on Shiro’s knee.

“Shiro. You know we all look up to you as a leader, but - nobody can stand alone. If I’ve learned one thing from all of this, that’s it. You can depend on us, too. We’re here for you.”

Shakily, Shiro stood up, and then opened his arms. Immediately, Keith responded, wrapping his arms tightly around Shiro’s chest. Letting his arms fall, Shiro returned the embrace gently.

Keith could hear some tears dripping onto the back of his jacket. He held Shiro until the splat of drops slowed, and then stopped. They sat back down, and Shiro rested his head on Keith’s shoulder for a while, dozing gently. Keith kept his arm around Shiro’s shoulders, hoping that he’d be able to ward off any bad dreams. They stayed that way for a long time, and Shiro seemed to sleep peacefully.


	6. The Distant Past

The lion was a castle, and the castle was a lion. Zarkon was there with him. Together, they paced through airy corridors connecting cockpits, the views from each one looking out on a different planet. Something about Zarkon was different; his movements were more relaxed, less clipped. It was as though a crushing weight had finally been removed from his shoulders.

"Though I was here but briefly, I found this castle appealing. Most castles, I hate - they are immobile, enclosed. They remind me of where I came from: old Galra King's Moon Palace. It was the only private space sufficiently sized for his program. Let us walk there, Takashi."

Zarkon’s voice had changed as well. It was smoother and more personal, losing the tone of command and authority which had exuded from his speech in the past.

Zarkon led him down a corridor. It narrowed, changing color, morphing from high, light ceilings into dark, square tunnels. Reaching the end, Zarkon pushed open a door. It revealed a great courtyard under a beautiful, artificial, purple sky. Galra children ran barefoot on the grass, chasing one another and splashing in the fountains and pools. Each one looked almost identical to the others.

"These are my brothers; the ones who made it into childhood. That one is me."

He raised his hand, and pointed at one very serious-looking Galra who was practicing stances and murmuring under his breath.

"There was a phrase: you can be everything, or be nothing. You can give everything, or give nothing. It is less poetic in your thoughts. Nevertheless, I took it to heart. It was my mantra, one might say."

Passing through the courtyard, they entered into a labyrinth of classrooms, training arenas, and clinics.

"We became fewer. Those who did poorly... we were told they had gone away. Then, one day, there was the message from the King - in five years, he would take the Prince to be his ward at Court. Takashi - I knew I was the Prince."

Ducking through a low door, they came upon a dark gallery, filled with disused furniture. A dead Galra teen lay on the floor, a path of debris marking where he had crashed through the clutter.

"This is the place where the first direct attempt to kill me was made, by one of my brothers. He was strong, but clumsy. I was strong, and agile."

They moved through kitchens and gardens where the scene had repeated. Often there was only one body, but many times there were more.

"The most violent ones died quickly. The rest formed a truce - after all, we still needed to study and train to meet the King's expectations. One cannot do that while forever anticipating attacks."

There was a large gathering, and the feeling of many strong hands, meeting in agreement despite mutual distrust.

"No negotiation has ever been more difficult, no treaty more tenuous, than those held between all of us."

They walked down the pathway which held the next few years. It lead bumpily to the conclusion.

"Eventually, there was a realization that we were not truly brothers in the traditional sense. We were explorations of an unusual genetic space, drawn inside of handsome, regal lines. Depending on how one counts, we started out as more than two million. However, only sixteen thousand candidates were selected from the simulation pool, and of those, two thousand were successfully conceived. Four hundred were born, and two hundred survived into childhood. I have explained how matters proceeded from there."

"The last two weeks were bloody, Takashi. We all had grown, learned, and trained in the time we had. No one of my remaining brothers was weak, or rash. But - most of them were alone. I was not; I had the one I thought of as my only true brother, and my only friend. We complemented one another - we bonded in a way none of the others did. Together, we were determined to reach the end, to leave the Palace alive."

Two Galra were walking through the wreckage of the courtyard - the fountains were all stagnant, and the lawn was marred with scars where battles had occurred. It was time. The screens had shown them; the King was arriving on the Royal Cruiser, and the Prince would meet him at the Palace Gates which, for their entire lives, had remained sealed. None of the staff, not even the tutors or servants, had been allowed to leave.

Zarkon and his true brother stood by the shining, impenetrable gate. They alone remained. The King was on the other side, waiting for the Prince. And Kings do not like to wait.

A message appeared on the screen by the gate.

"There is only one Prince. The Prince has no weaknesses."

Zarkon stared at his brother, his friend; his face was so similar, yet different in subtle ways. It was like the ridges in skin; no one of the brothers had ever been physically identical, they had found.

And yet, his brother's neck felt just like his own as he wrapped his hands around it. In truth, he knew that neck better than his own. Zarkon stood there, braced for the counterattack which would inevitably arrive, and disconnect his hands from that neck. But nothing happened. His brother simply stood there, his eyes open and staring into Zarkon's, before he closed them, his limbs went limp, and his heart beat its last.

Zarkon let go of the neck, and the body slumped to the ground. He had known that he was the Prince, and he was right. He was alone. He was strong, he was without weakness. The impenetrable gates opened, and Zarkon beheld the King.

"My son."

Zarkon knelt. He was already taller than the King, who was old and stooped. Soon, the Prince rose, and the King and the Prince walked out through the gates, towards the Royal Cruiser. Behind them, the Palace exploded into flame, expertly made to look like the result of a badly-timed terrorist bomb.

Emperor Zarkon stood, and watched the flames dance into the sky. His face was still as the light flickered across his features, limned with a consigned sadness, and the pain of a memory which ten thousand years had been unable to erase.

"I had a destiny, Takashi. I was the Prince. I lived, while the others died, while he died. I followed that destiny: to become Champion - to become King - to become Paladin - to become Emperor."

A corridor formed from wreaths of fire and smoke, and they entered it, returning to the Lion-Castle. As they reached a common-room, a projector switched on, showing an image of Alfor.

"Out of everyone, he was the only one to ever remind me of my brother - the only one of the Paladins who did not fear me. Mistakenly, I trusted him, and told him the true story of my childhood. In return, he betrayed me."

The image disappeared quickly. Walking through another door, they entered Emperor Zarkon's throne room.

"Then, for ten millenia, I faced my destiny, Takashi. An unimaginable time. I have lived that long, and still I cannot imagine an amount of time so large. My mind and my identity have waxed and waned, crumbled and reconstructed, but always, always, I clung to my destiny."

Walking across the wide chamber, Zarkon ascended to his throne.

"You arrived. And in your victory, your refusal to die, I recognized in you a spark of myself. I thought you could be something more, a new part of the Empire. Then, you escaped. You took command of Voltron. More and more, I saw that you, too, have a destiny. Still, I thought that you might eventually comprehend, and stand by my side."

Zarkon leaned forward on his seat.

"But Takashi - you despise me. You despise everything I have built, everything I have done, everything I intend to do. Just as Alfor would. And, I finally realize, just as my brother would."

Reaching up, Zarkon released and removed his helm, setting it on the ground by his feet.

"It is time to stop. Part of me realizes this, Takashi - the part which jumped to you, which is giving you this message, which is providing you with new sight, and new power. Whatever is left of me is not worth saving. That part is still chasing a false purpose, and will never cease."

Zarkon sat back in his chair, and slowly began to fade.

"Am I the weak part or the strong part, for depending on you? I do not know. I have not known, since the Gate. Victory to you, Takashi. Vrepit sa."

With that, Zarkon was gone. The throne room slid away, and became darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

After Shiro woke up, Keith walked him back to his room. He’d reassured Keith that he'd be fine, and said goodnight, with a promise to call if he needed anything. Closing the door, Shiro sat down on the edge of his bed, and examined the room. It was just as he had left it - clean and tidy, compact and characterless. It didn't feel like a home. 

Between the barracks, dormitories, and spaceships, Shiro had lost count of all the places he’d lived. But each of them, in their own way, he’d made his own, transformed with a few key objects. A lucky cat here, his pictures from Sao Paulo and Ilhabela there. Postcards from his parents and family, taped up around the mirror. But all those things were gone - stored in a box somewhere, lost, or just thrown out. His parents must think him years dead by now, he reflected. A framed picture of him was probably sitting next to those of his grandparents, smelling of wood and incense inside the dark butsudan.

Thinking about home was too much. Standing up, Shiro walked into the bathroom to clean himself up, at long last. Stepping behind the glass panel which held the shower, Shiro touched the wall, turning on the water and cranking up the heat.

The spray emerged from a ring above his head. The sound of the water whooshing out of the showerhead, beading on the walls, and trickling down into the drain, merged into a regular, relaxing white noise. Looking upwards, Shiro washed his face clean, rinsing off the dried blood, sweat, and salt. Looking down at his chest, Shiro was surprised to find an absence of bruises where Zarkon had hit him. There was no soreness in his back where he'd impacted the wall, either.

After he'd finished showering, Shiro turned off the water and dried himself off. Finally, he stepped in front of the mirror, which he'd been avoiding until that point.

Two glowing, purple eyes stared back at him. They hadn't washed out; some part of his brain had insisted that they'd come out in the shower, and his own eyes would still be underneath. However, the wishful thinking of his subconscious had been firmly disproved. Touching his new eyes, ever so gently, Shiro found his fingers could pass inside the purple glow. It felt strange, and some force began to push back, but it was unmistakable: his eyes were mostly empty space, filled with the radiant purple energy.

Shiro reflected on the vision he'd seen while dozing on Keith's shoulder; it was still clear and unwavering in his memory. Unlike any normal dream, it refused to disincorporate and fade. Shiro could still see the Gate, Zarkon's dead clone-brothers, and the burning palace as clearly as if they were his own memories. Even more clearly, perhaps.

This was going to take a very long time to accept, Shiro acknowledged, idly rubbing his right arm with his left hand. Closing his new eyes, Shiro took a breath and focused. Not on the purple sun in his arm, not on the new memories and thoughts in his head, but on himself. Just him, Shiro, feeling his own heart beat inside his chest, his own lungs filling with and expelling air, his own thoughts running around his head. He was still here, after everything.

Exiting the bathroom, Shiro switched off the lights and laid down in his narrow bed. He'd expected fatigue to overwhelm him once he'd gotten under the covers, but found that wasn't the case at all. He felt fully rested, although he'd only spent a short time sleeping on Keith's shoulder.

Guiltily, he summoned his internal vision, and peeked around the Castle. He felt Keith his room nearby, and Pidge and Hunk were in her 'lab,' the extra space in the Green Lion's hangar. Coran and Allura were on the bridge. The path down to the practice arena was clear. Something at the back of his mind was bothering him, and Shiro needed the arena to figure it out.

Putting on a pair of shorts and a shirt, Shiro snuck out of his room, padding lightly on his bare feet towards the arena. Once there, he turned up the lights, and brought up a training program, setting the robot to the usual level he trained at. It deployed, emerging into the center of the large room, and waited for Shiro to signal his readiness.

Bringing his hands up and putting his legs in a fighting stance, Shiro nodded at the machine, telling it to start.

One of the things Shiro enjoyed about martial arts, which had motivated him to continue training and sparring, was how one discovered the personality of their opponent during a fight. Some people were cautious, preferring to counter and wait for an opening to happen. Other people charged in headfirst, trying to hammer at you until you let them in under your guard. Each person could be a surprise, as they expressed themselves and their attitudes through the motions they made.

A curious and challenging aspect of fighting the robot, Shiro had thought, was that it had no personality of its own. It synthesized its moves from a library, Coran had told him, trying to mix and match to find a winning combination against its opponent. As a result, the robot could seem to switch personalities halfway through a bout, moving from a cautious game into a merciless barrage. It kept Shiro on his toes, and forced him to stay flexible through a fight.

But as the robot came towards him from across the floor, Shiro found himself thinking that he had finally nailed down the robot's personality, or rather, its lack of one. It seemed to him as though he could read the moves it was making, as it read down its catalog of attacks, picking one it thought might work. Having a good idea of what was coming, Shiro needed little effort to evade or parry the robot's attacks. Eventually, he slid past one of the robot's thrusts and shoved it, making it clatter onto the ground.

Checking the program on a wall panel, Shiro confirmed it was at his normal level. After hesitating for a moment, Shiro turned the program to its maximum difficulty level, acknowledging the warnings.

The robot stood back up, and charged towards Shiro immediately. Sensing it approaching from behind, Shiro stood still. The robot was going to try to run him through. At the last minute, Shiro stepped gracefully sideways, out of the robot's reach. It tried to adjust, but was committed to its course through its momentum, and crashed into the wall.

Shiro let the robot get back up, and continued to practice with it. Although its attacks had become more forceful and advanced, it still had the same lack of personality and long-term strategy as before. Shiro let it go through its paces, and then disarmed and disabled it, finishing the program.

Relaxing, Shiro turned, and walked back towards the wall panel to review the fight. But something behind him moved; was moving, rapidly. Reacting, turning to face it, Shiro ducked, reaching out with his hand - and cut the robot in half. It sizzled, and its parts went flying apart, clattering to rest at the base of the arena's wall. He'd summoned his hand's energy reflexively, without even noticing.

The wall flashed a message: _always be prepared for the unexpected, my daughter_. Then, it reverted to its normal state. Robot destroyed! it chirped. Constructing new robot, 1% complete. Review match footage?

Shiro dispersed the energy around his hand, and opened up the recordings of him fighting. At his usual training level, Shiro thought he looked normal. Perhaps more coordinated, smoother than before, but still like himself. Shiro relaxed, approving. Then, he opened up the next recording, of him fighting the maximum training level. His jaw dropped. If he had been wearing Galra armor, Shiro would have said it was Zarkon fighting in the arena. His stance, his easy defense against attacks, his precise exploitations of openings - it was all just as Zarkon had done when Shiro had fought him.

It was true, then - the sensation Shiro had noticed, feeling as though there was a new set of muscle memories and reflexes, sitting below his own - it was real. His eyes, his nerves, his body: everything had been changed after his encounter with Zarkon.

His head spinning, he sat down. Shiro's thoughts drifted back towards old ruminations he'd faced, still faced, after he'd lost his arm: what made his body his? What did it mean to live inside a body which had suffered from, and been shaped by, the hands of others?

He had to own it, Shiro had decided. His scars, his hair changing to gray and white, his Galra arm. And now, his eyes, his reflexes, his movements. Maybe someday, things would change - he would get his scars fixed, he would keep training, discovering his own movements, relearning his own reflexes - but until then, he would carry on. He would keep being himself, and keep working towards his goals: keep the Paladins safe, and make the Universe better. It wasn't easy, or comfortable, but he would do it. For himself, and for the people he loved.

An idea emerged in Shiro’s head, of a path to achieve those goals. Carefully and slowly, he began to inspect it.


	8. Ultimatum

A knock came on Shiro’s door the next morning.

"Shiro - you up?" Keith asked, his muffled voice coming into the room.

Shiro nodded, just for his own benefit. 

"Yeah. I'm getting up," he mumbled, sitting up and swinging his legs off the side of his bed. 

"Let's go to breakfast. Everyone’s missed you, and we all want to hear what happened."

Shiro dressed quickly, and stepped out into the hall.

"Ok. Let's not miss out on all the fresh food goo."

They began walking out of the remote hallway, and back towards the center of the Castle. Eventually, they returned to the dining room, where they had expected to find everybody. However, the room was empty. Keith walked over to a wall panel, and opened a channel.

"Hey. Where are you guys?" Keith asked.

There was no response from the panel. Concentrating, Shiro glanced outwards with his vision, finding the others.

"They're in Pidge's hangar," Shiro informed a puzzled Keith. "We need to get there."

Running, they reached Pidge's hangar in a few minutes. As they approached the hangar entrance, they heard yelling through the doors. Then, sensing their presence, the doors swept open, revealing the scene beyond.

Pidge and Allura were shouting at one other. Allura stared disapprovingly down at Pidge, who was clenching her fists, and looking up defiantly at Allura.

"-nearly destroyed the Castle, and why you still have a fragment of it is beyond me!" Allura lectured Pidge.

"Don't you change the subject on me, 'Princess!' You need to let us go, this isn't your decision, you-"

"Keith! Shiro!" Hunk yelled over the commotion. He was standing by Pidge's workbench, where Lance was sitting on the ground, watching a monitor connected to the Galra crystal. "You guys really need to see this."

Keith walked over to the monitor, as Pidge and Allura continued to argue. What he saw made his heart jump - it was Earth, surrounded by a fleet of Galra ships. A caption appeared, translated by Pidge's program. 'Terrorists in possession of Voltron: return this weapon, or your home will be destroyed. Two days remain.' Then, two short videos appeared; they were from Pidge's father and brother, asking for her to peacefully return Voltron. The feed then returned to a live view of Earth, surrounded by a Galra fleet.

"-can't just rush into another trap! This time, one of you could die, and Voltron would be finished!" Allura continued on.

"We don't have a choice! This is our home, this is my family! It's all of our families, all of humanity!" Pidge retorted.

"I knew you'd react this way! I knew you'd-"

"You KNEW?" Pidge roared. "You KNEW, and I had to find out by CHANCE? How long has it BEEN?"

Allura realized that she had made a misstep, and hesitated, looking like she wanted to back away from Pidge, who was shaking with rage.

Shiro had seen enough, and stepped in between the two of them.

"Enough! We won't get anywhere by yelling."

Allura scoffed. "Always the hero, aren't you, Shiro? I suppose you also want to take Voltron and leave."

He nodded. "Yes, I do."

"I thought so. Tell me, how did you get those eyes? I was Zarkon's prisoner, yet I seem to still have all my original body parts attached. Did Zarkon offer you a deal? Did you want another upgrade, were your human eyes not enough?"

"Princess!" Coran exclaimed, entering the fray with a shocked expression. "This has gone too far! Shiro and everyone else have risked their lives for us!"

"I need an answer, Coran!" Allura retorted. "What did you do, Shiro?"

"You're not wrong," Shiro began to explain. "Zarkon did offer me a deal. If we gave him Voltron, we could all go home, and step out of this fight we barely understand."

"So, then, this is your cover story, your excuse to mobilize?"

Shiro shook his head.

"No. I insulted Zarkon, and... he took it badly. He wanted to teach me a lesson, to show me what it was like for him to rule. That's when he- he took my eyes. He shared something, and I saw what it was like to be him, for a moment. But, something happened, something I'm not sure he intended. We kind of got... stuck together, for a bit. A part of him is still inside my head, more than just these eyes. A part of him which wants to stop.” Shiro paused, and looked at the monitor feed. “Now, the rest of Zarkon is tired of playing around. This is his ultimatum."

"Shiro, I'm so sorry," Coran responded. "It must be awful, having that despot rummaging around inside your head."

Allura said nothing, but looked somewhat remorseful.

"It’s bad, but... I think this is what we needed. I know Zarkon now, better than anyone. I can understand him, and I can fight like him. We can save Earth - but Allura, you need to let us go."

Everyone had turned to look at Allura. Even Lance, who had been rocking gently while sitting in front of the monitor showing Earth, until a few moments ago.

"Please, Allura," Lance asked, so quietly.

Allura looked down at the ground.

"Go. I doubt I could stop you anyway."

There was a split second of reaction where the Paladins absorbed the news. Then, they all began running, out of the hangar, towards their Lions. By the doorway, Lance hesitated for a second, looking back at Allura, Coran, and Shiro. Then, he turned away, and ran towards the Blue Lion.

"Thank you, Princess." Shiro bowed his head towards Allura.

"I wish I could trust you, Shiro. But you carry a part of the man who killed my father. Every time I look at you, I see a reflection of his murderer." She paused for a beat. "Whatever happens at Earth, don't come back to my castle. Voltron is yours."

Shiro acknowledged her with a nod, and turned to look at Coran.

"Coran."

"Shiro. Whatever your plan is... good luck."

His smile from behind where the princess could see him said more than his words. Shiro returned it briefly, then left the room, heading towards the Black Lion.

_Out of the pan, into the fire, into the fire, into the fire_ , he reflected, climbing into the Lion's cockpit.

"You guys all there?" he asked over the comms.

"Roger. Yeah. Yup. Here," they replied.

"So, uh... how are we getting back to Earth?" Hunk asked. "I know we made Allura angry, but, isn't she the only one who can open a wormhole?"

"I learned a couple things while I was gone," Shiro responded. Charging forward, the Black Lion roared, and formed a wormhole in front of the formation of Lions.

"Come on everyone," Shiro announced. "Time to go home."

The lions flew through the wormhole, and it snapped shut behind them.


	9. Altean Interlude

Allura and Coran stood on the bridge.

"That's it, then," Allura stated flatly.

"It seems so, Princess."

"They looked so like us, didn't they, Coran? Apart from the ears, of course. But they were... so different."

"Yes, but - I don't think that's a bad thing."

"I wish I could be so sure."

The bridge was silent for a few ticks, except for the noise of energy flowing through conduits, and air flowing through open doorways and over empty chairs.

"It's their home, Princess - couldn't we at least go help them? They risked it all for you, before."

"But they shouldn't have, Coran. I made my own choice. They shouldn't have risked Voltron; it's our only hope to defeat Zarkon. If luck hadn't been on our side, it would all be over already."

"It wasn't luck, though. Somebody helped us - they made a conscious decision to lower the shield at Zarkon’s base, and put themselves in danger to free us. That's the opposite of luck."

"That person is probably dead now."

"You don't know that. Galra may be many things, but they're rarely reckless."

Allura sighed, and sat down in one of the Paladin's chairs.

"We have so little left, Coran. Voltron, the Castle... the Paladins will most likely lose their world, too. I didn't want to see it happen, truly. But I also didn't want to lose our last hope, because I don't think I can take it."

"Hope is everywhere, Allura - it's in those young Paladins, it's in the people standing up to Zarkon, it's in the Balmerans and the prisoners we freed. It's been ten thousand years, and hope still exists. Nobody could take it away, not even Zarkon."

Allura sat silently in her chair for several moments.

"You may be right."

Standing up, she walked towards the control console and put her hands on the pedestals.

"We've been a part of this since the beginning. We might as well see the end."

A wormhole formed in front of the Castle, and it jumped away, leaving behind only empty space and trace gases.


	10. The Exchange

They landed on the far side of the moon, all five of them. Coming in, they could see the light of the battlecruisers' engines as they held stations around the Earth, poised to strike at the sites most precious to humanity. But as they reached the crater, all the lights of Earth and the ships around it disappeared behind the bright, silver surface of the moon.

It was a waxing crescent, Shiro noted as his Lion set down in the Tsiolkovsky crater. Light slanted down sideways from the sun, making the surrounding mountains and the peak in the crater's center send long shadows across the ground. Zarkon and a retinue of soldiers stood in the light of the sun, shining bright and purple in front of their shuttle, parked a few hundred meters away.

The five paladins exited their Lions, stepping onto the pockmarked, silver-gray surface of the crater. Their suits added to the local gravity, keeping their feet firmly on the dusty ground. Shiro gathered them into a huddle.

"Remember what I told you guys: the guards will underestimate you. Play into that. Whatever happens, your priority is to get control of the shuttle, and to get yourselves somewhere safe. That's all that matters right now."

"But Shiro, what about you?" Hunk objected.

"Don't worry, I can take care of myself. I have a plan to deal with Zarkon - you guys just concentrate on getting away."

"Shiro, I-" Pidge began.

"No buts," Shiro interrupted. "This is our best option."

The group looked unsatisfied, but nodded their acquiescence.

Zarkon and his group were approaching. All the soldiers were wearing helmets, yet Zarkon only wore his normal helm in the vacuum of space. They halted, a few paces away from the Paladins. Zarkon began to speak, his words somehow carrying through the emptiness.

"Takashi. Despite your own objections, you have done me two great services; I am appreciative. I will allow the others to return to their home, as a reward for returning Voltron to its rightful place."

Zarkon nodded, signalling his guards to escort Pidge, Hunk, Keith, and Lance towards the shuttle. They looked unsettled, but moved off as Shiro had asked them to. Shiro and Zarkon stood in silence as the other Paladins moved off. They each looked back at him once or twice, as though they thought there might be a signal to do something. But Shiro just waved at them, oblivious to Zarkon’s glare, and soon the shuttle took off.

“So, Zarkon,” Shiro continued on, “please name the second service I’ve performed for you.”

"Unfortunately, your second service to me does not come with a reward. My weak thoughts, my past, my doubts and fears - they chose to jump into you while we were connected. For this, I am eternally grateful. But, as long as my weakness lives inside of you, I cannot rest. Even now, I can feel it growing and living within you. You must die, Takashi, taking my flaws with you."

Zarkon held out his bayard, forming his sword.

"I expected nothing less," Shiro replied, summoning the energy to shroud his right hand.

Zarkon wasted no time joining the battle. He was not testing or teasing Shiro; he was interested only in a swift victory, opening with a broad, powerful swing aimed to split Shiro from shoulder to thigh. Shiro caught it with the suit's shield on his left arm, but the Zarkon's strike was so forceful it staggered Shiro for a moment, and he lost the opportunity to counter with his right hand.

But Shiro discovered that he already knew what was coming next; he tumbled forward under the crackling wave of energy Zarkon cast out with his sword, and came within striking distance of his throat. Reaching out to strike, he forced Zarkon back a step, and pushed the attack further, making Zarkon retreat another step before he countered.

“Your weak side is greater than you think, Zarkon,” Shiro commented. Zarkon only frowned, and attacked again.

Looking inward to find the eternal sun, Shiro looked out of his new eyes like never before. He could see Zarkon drawing on different sources of strength, drawing to charge a strike, make an attack, to close the distance. Using that knowledge, and combining it with his new instincts, Shiro fought Zarkon as he never could have before, as two champions fighting one another. Their attacks closed and met, were parried and deflected, sending sparks and beams flying across the crater, sending plumes of dust and rock up into space.

Shiro knew he could only go on for so long; already, his muscles were screaming for a respite, his heart was pounding in his chest faster than it had any right to go. Zarkon drew on his unnatural sources of power, replenished himself, and readied another thrust with his sword. Shiro fixed his stance and prepared his legs, pretending he was going to counter as Zarkon expected. He was satisfied he’d done what he needed to do in the fight: convince Zarkon that he was fighting against himself. Now, he could end it.

Zarkon began his strike. Shiro ignored his new reflexes, and jumped forward, pulling his right arm back to hit forward.

The sword took Shiro through his stomach, passing through cleanly and brightly, feeling so strange, smooth, and profoundly wrong. Shiro continued traveling forward, down to the sword's hilt, until he could bring in his left arm to reach around Zarkon's neck and lock on. Pain shot and spun through Shiro’s core as his abdominals tightened around the sword, while he brought his right arm forward in a strike towards Zarkon's chest. Looking up into Zarkon's eyes, he saw something he never had expected to see: panic, disbelief, the shock of realizing that he wasn’t fighting himself, after all. He was fighting Shiro - and as he had known from the start, Shiro was willing to sacrifice himself to win. Shiro's right fingers contacted Zarkon's breastplate, and burned through, reaching in towards something hot, something dangerous, contained underneath.

Everything exploded into whiteness, formed from writhing currents of coiled, burning energy, pinned to something old and hot and dangerous. Shiro could only see his right hand in front of him, purple and cool, reaching forward. He pushed with all his might against the currents, bringing his right hand further in, inch by inch, until he found the pin, the center. It was a pitch-black ovaloid, full of hate and spite, burning desire and sadism, dangerous pride and potent determination. Shiro grabbed it with his hand, and then pulled with all his might. He drew on his last strength: he pulled with the power of the eternal sun, burning inside his arm, he pulled with the love he had for his Paladins, for everyone on the planet below, and for everyone in space above. He pulled, and finally, the dark pin came loose, and tumbled out of its place, Shiro falling backwards with it clasped inside his hand.

With nothing to hold it together, the white storm suddenly stopped, and trembled. Then, it flew apart, streams of light and force shooting outwards with impossible velocity. Shiro was caught in the burst, and he was thrown backwards, struck with such a force that everything turned dark, even the beams of light, and even the sun.

Nothing happened for a long while. Shiro's eyes were closed, and his breathing was fast and shallow. Drops of blood and fluid from the wound in Shiro's abdomen boiled into space, freezing his torso as they evaporated. His suit was trying to knit over the damage, but it only had so much energy remaining, and was working slowly.

Groggily, Shiro opened his eyes. Stars tumbled by around him. The earth and the moon seemed very far away, very small and insignificant. He held something in his hand; when the light of the sun hit it at the right angle, it looked like a large, black, petrified heart. His right hand closed around it, and it burst into a thousand fragments, which floated lazily away into space. His right hand opened again, and then would move no more.

Something was very wrong with his stomach; it felt very cold, and very hard, and seemed like it should hurt. Shiro was glad that it didn't, though. He was very tired. He'd done something quite important, though, he seemed to recall. Shapes and colors began to dance in front of his eyes. Closing them, he decided to rest.


	11. Light in the Crater

The guards had all gone forward to the shuttle's bridge; something was going on, and Pidge was going to take advantage of the distraction. Galra handcuffs were clever, but she'd found that they all shared the same security system, which had something that was either a flaw, or a backdoor. Knowing what usually happened to Galra captives, Pidge had taken precautions to avoid sharing that fate without a fight.

"Hunk," she said quickly, "I need you to take my left shoe off. There's a-"

"What? Your shoe?" he asked, sitting on the bench next to her. "Are your feet really that itchy right now?"

Pidge frowned.

"There's a security transponder chip inside. Shake it out, and hold it up to your cuffs. They should come undone."

"Oh. Yeah, that makes more sense," Hunk replied.

His hands behind his back, he sat down on passenger bay's floor, and began to tug at her right shoe.

"No, the left one!"

"Oh, right."

"No, left!"

"I got it! I was just saying - nevermind."

Her shoe came off into Hunk's hand, and the transponder chip fell onto the floor. He picked it up and clicked it on - nothing happened.

"Uh-oh," Pidge muttered.

"Is it working?" Hunk asked anxiously. "Shouldn't it be working already?"

"Well, in hindsight, a sweaty boot might not be the optimal place to hide sensitive electronic-"

Simultaneously, their cuffs popped open, and Pidge brought her hands forward, appreciatively rubbing her wrists.

Pidge cleared her throat. "Doesn't matter. It worked."

"Mmm-hmm," Hunk commented skeptically.

Leaving the passenger bay, they separated to sneak towards the toilet and the cargo bay, where Lance and Keith had been brought, respectively, after their arguing had proven too much for the guards to endure. Pidge quickly found Keith, and then met back up with Hunk and Lance in the corridor, unlocking the last pair of cuffs.

"Alright! Time to go storm the bridge and then go rescue Shiro," Lance announced.

"No, he told us to get to safety, we need to-" Keith began arguing, before the shuttle shuddered, jolted, and the lights went out.

"What just happened?" Pidge asked.

"We need to find out what's going on out there," Hunk said decisively.

Suddenly lacking artificial gravity, they floated down the corridor to the airlock. After manually cycling it open, they looked out of the open door into space. They were still above the Tsiolkovsky crater, which was filled with a strange white light, bursting and flowing, filling up the crater, reaching through the mountains, radiating out into space.

Pidge's hand went up to cover her mouth.

"Shiro - he was down there - " she trailed off.

"No," Keith said, unbelieving. "No, he can't have... he wouldn't just..."

Keith climbed out of the airlock, and pushed off the shuttle, then burned away with his jetpack, towards the crater, where the light was slowly waning.

"That big, mulleted idiot is gonna get himself killed!" Lance cried out. "Keith, get back here!"

Lance also pushed off of the ship, and flew away to follow Keith.

Hunk and Pidge shrugged at each other, and followed the others at a more reasoned pace.

* * *

With only their jetpacks, the flight back down to the moon took a few minutes. At the end, they'd had to burn hard to avoid becoming new pockmarks on the crater's surface. The light in the crater had gradually dimmed, until finally there was only a faint glow left, emanating from a small site near the Lions, which still remained where they'd been left. The group's gravity fields activated, and they dropped onto the surface of the moon, near the Lions.

Walking towards the fading light, they were able to discern that it came from a small figure, lying in a shallow crater, which was bright and new. The light was playing across the figure, streaming out like long, slow flames emerging from a dying fire.

Lance had his hand on Keith's shoulder as they walked towards the small crater. Pidge and Hunk followed behind them. None of them spoke; they all thought they knew who it was.

But as they drew closer, they began to realize the shape was wrong; it was too tall, too broad, the silhouette was all wrong. They picked up the pace, and closed the remaining distance.

The figure on the ground looked ancient, charred and withered, like cinders from a warrior's funeral pyre frozen in place. There was a crack in its chest, and its face expressed a look of disbelief and horror.

"It's not... it can't be," Keith stuttered.

Pidge bent down to inspect the figure.

"It is. The armor markings match - it's Zarkon."

The markings, like the armor, were disfigured and misshapen, as if they had burnt or melted. Nevertheless, they were unmistakable. It was the four claw marks along the chestpiece, which had burnt so brightly on the Emperor's armor. The four of them stood silently, committing the image of the fallen tyrant to memory.

"Holy shit," Lance exclaimed. "He did it. He actually did it."

"Guys," Hunk said sharply, "we've got company incoming."

Looking upwards, he pointed towards the sky. It was the shuttle; it had restarted, and was heading directly towards them.

"Lions, now," Keith commanded.

Lance and Hunk nodded, and began to run back towards the Lions.

"Wait," Pidge exclaimed, "what about Shiro? He's not here!"

"We can't find him if we all get recaptured! Get to the Green Lion!" Lance yelled back.

Pidge frowned, and blasted off the ground back towards her Lion. Running up the ramp, she got inside just as the shuttle touched down, and Galra soldiers began to run out.

Inside the cockpit, Pidge felt the Lion recognize her presence, and wake. Jumping into the seat, she pulled on the controls, and Green launched off the surface of the moon. Pulling up her sensors, she began to scan the surrounding area.

For a long time, there was nothing. Just false positives, ghost signals bouncing off rocks and debris, and malfunctioning old satellites placed into graveyard orbits long ago. Then, there was something - just a hint, a trail of water vapor, slightly warm, but cooling quickly as its heat radiated away.

"PIDGE!"

Keith was yelling at her over the radio, Pidge realized suddenly.

"They know something's wrong! The ships are going to attack Earth! We need you over here, NOW!"

The cooling trail led off in the wrong direction. Below, to the left, the Galra Battlecruisers were joining formation, and beginning to charge their weapons.

_Shiro is only one person_ , Pidge's inner voice reminded her. _There are billions of lives at risk below_. Regretfully, she began to turn her lion to bear on the Galra ships.

An alarm blared suddenly, as a wormhole appeared directly underneath her. Pidge clenched her jaw - was it more Galra reinforcements, come to finish the job? But the shape which emerged was distinctively not Galran; it was the Castle, the Castle of Lions.

"Paladins!" Pidge heard Allura cry out on the radio. "Where is the Black Lion? You should be forming Voltron!"

A beam of blue light shot out from the Castle's apex, spearing through three Galra ships.

"Allura! We don't know, he disappeared after fighting Zarkon," Pidge replied.

"Lost?" asked Coran. "Losing a sock is acceptable, losing a Paladin isn't! Go find him, we can handle this!"

More battlecruisers turned away from the planet, towards the new threat of the Castle.

"On it," Pidge replied, relieved.

She pulled back up the trail; it was even more faint than it had been just a minute ago. Thrusting forward, she followed its weaving trail through space. The trail became strong; then it grew weak, and finally, faded altogether.

Pidge pounded on the controls in frustration. To come so far, just to lose it now - she couldn't accept that. Pushing forward, she continued on the arc she had been following, intending to search in a cone, spiraling outwards. She was scouring the sensor data, she was listening for something, anything from her Lion. 

And then, there was a blip. A small, cool body, which had been all but invisible against the dark background of space. Pidge leapt towards it in the Lion, her pulse quickening.

It was Shiro; a tall man, in the armor of the Black Paladin. Scanning him, the Lion warbled a warning: he was gravely injured. He had major internal damage to his organs, severe blood loss, and had suffered from partial exposure to space before his suit recovered pressurization.

Calmly, Pidge opened her Lion's jaws, and gently guided the Lion's mouth around Shiro. Once he was in, she closed the jaws, and blasted back towards the Castle. Shells of light blossomed as Galra shots impacted on the particle barrier. Returning fire, missiles and beams of energy arced out from the Castle towards the Galra cruisers, impacting on many. Farther away, the remaining three Lions were dealing with Galra fighters and disabling what Battlecruisers they could get their hands on.

"Princess! Coran! Raise the shield, Shiro needs a medial pod immediately!" Pidge called out over the radio.

"Roger that, Pidge. Opening aft shields, and sending a medical drone to your hangar!" Coran responded.

Flying in through the opening in the barrier, Pidge descended into the Green Lion's bay, where a stretcher drone was waiting. Bringing the Lion down quickly, she set it down, and then jumped out of the cockpit, and down into the Lion's mouth.

Shiro looked much worse closer up - his suit had only barely managed to patch itself, covering a long, wide gash on Shiro's stomach, which was mirrored all the way through on his back. Waving the medical drone over, Pidge struggled as she pulled Shiro's body onto the stretcher, as quickly and gently as she could manage. She wasn't sure which was worse: how cold Shiro felt, or how he didn't make a sound, despite the pain he should have been in.

"Medical bay, now!" she yelled at the drone. It took off, and she ran behind it, trying to keep up as it sped ahead.

Finally reaching the medical bay, Pidge saw that a pod had already emerged from the floor and rotated horizontally to allow the stretcher to fit inside of it. Shiro was inside of the pod, but it hadn't rotated sideways. A red flashing panel had appeared on the pod's surface, and was chirping incessantly.

"What is it?" Pidge asked the pod angrily. Its chirping stopped, and a red graph appeared, showing a continuous flat line moving across the screen.

"No," Pidge protested. "No! Defibrillate! Activate! Override!"

The pod honked disapprovingly at her outburst, and continued to display the same red line.

"Please, do something," Pidge pleaded with the machine. "He's right here, you can still fix him, you just need to restart his-"

There was a brilliant flash of purple-white light. Reflexively turning away, Pidge covered her eyes, and could see only the afterimage of a person-shaped outline on the back of her eyes for a few moments.

After recovering, Pidge heard a sputtering cough, muffled by a helmet. The medical pod chirped, and sealed itself, before rotating upright and descending into the floor. Pidge stared around the room, unsure of what she had just witnessed.


	12. Epilogue

He dreamed that he woke up from the dream. He thought that he had lost someone, but breathed a sigh of relief to find out that they were right next to him. Lying back down on the grass of the hidden garden, he stared up at the night sky, taking in the view. It was one of the few places one could get a view of the real thing, and not a projection. He closed his eyes, and sank further into the lush grass. Everything faded.

* * *

It had been a few weeks. The new prosthetics had finally finished integrating into his body, and attached to the neural pathways his eyes had used. Shiro sat on the bed, listening to Coran talk.

"Now, I'm not really an expert in this, but the computer said everything is ready, so I'll just... assume it's right, I guess. Did I mention I'm not a doctor? Not that you need a doctor to do this, technically, the robots can-"

"Coran," Shiro interrupted. "I'm sure it's alright. Please, just go ahead and turn the implants on."

"Alright," Coran sighed. "Here we go-"

Something snapped on inside Shiro's head, and suddenly, bright and dark splotches of color and shape appeared in Shiro's vision, which had previously been completely absent. Slowly, the shapes began to converge, and form recognizable objects. A chair here, a cup there, Coran's overblown mustache right there. Shiro waved his hands in front of his eyes, and was pleased to see them both.

"I - I can see again!" Shiro exclaimed. "Colors don't really look the same, but... I can see."

"Phew, well that's a relief. Much more 'medical' stuff lately than I know about. We should really have a doctor."

"Yeah, let's see about that," Shiro agreed. "We've got a lot of people wanting to join up, I hear."

"Too many, if you ask me. The Princess is having trouble processing it all. She thinks we can't trust any of the Galra factions, but I'm not so sure, if you ask me. True, most of them are trying to kill us, but you can't hold that against all of them. A lot of people are trying to kill us! Really, a lot! Who knew Zarkon had so many allies and treaties?"

"The universe is a big place, Coran. Come on, let's go start making our own allies and treaties."

Shiro stood up, and put on his jacket. Turning to leave the room, he stopped to glance into a mirror at his new eyes. They looked fairly normal, but Shiro couldn't help but notice that the coloration in the iris seemed to have a hint of purple. He decided that he liked them that way.

Walking out of the room, Shiro headed towards the dining area. He had a lot of stories to tell and a lot of explaining to do, and he was also afraid that he had a lot of hugging to get through before that could happen. The doorway opened in front of him, and he saw everybody in their place, and went to rejoin them.


End file.
